Thirty enthusiasts in all took their places to play the Grossmeister.
Many of them were in complete confusion and kept glancing at books on chess to refresh their knowledge of complicated variations, with the help of which they hoped not to have to resign before the twenty-second move, at least.
Ostap ran his eyes along the line of black chessmen surrounding him on three sides, looked at the door, and then began the game.
He went up to the one-eyed man, who was sitting at the first board, and moved the king's pawn forward two squares.
One-eye immediately seized hold of his ears and began thinking hard.
A whisper passed along the line of players.
"The Grossmeister has played pawn to king four."
Ostap did not pamper his opponents with a variety of openings.
On the remaining twenty-nine boards he made the same move-pawn to king four.
One after another the enthusiasts seized their heads and launched into feverish discussions.
Those who were not playing followed the Grossmeister with their eyes.
The only amateur photographer in the town was about to clamber on to a chair and light his magnesium flare when Ostap waved his arms angrily and, breaking off his drift along the boards, shouted loudly:
"Remove the photographer!
He is disturbing my chess thought!"
What would be the point of leaving a photograph of myself in this miserable town, thought Ostap to himself. I don't much like having dealings with the militia.
Indignant hissing from the enthusiasts forced the photographer to abandon his attempt.
In fact, their annoyance was so great that he was actually put outside the, door.
At the third move it became clear that in eighteen games the Grossmeister was playing a Spanish gambit.
In the other twelve the blacks played the old-fashioned, though fairly reliable, Philidor defence.
If Ostap had known he was using such cunning gambits and countering such tested defences, he would have been most surprised.
The truth of the matter was that he was playing chess for the second time in his life.
At first the enthusiasts, and first and foremost one-eye, were terrified at the Grossmeister's obvious craftiness.
With singular ease, and no doubt scoffing to himself at the backwardness of the Vasyuki enthusiasts, the Grossmeister sacrificed pawns and other pieces left and right.
He even sacrificed his queen to the brown-haired fellow whose skill had been so belittled during the lecture.
The man was horrified and about to resign; it was only by a terrific effort of will that he was able to continue.
The storm broke about five minutes later.
"Mate!" babbled the brown-haired fellow, terrified out of his wits. "You're checkmate, Comrade Grossmeister!'
Ostap analysed the situation, shamefully called a rook a "castle" and pompously congratulated the fellow on his win.
A hum broke out among the enthusiasts.
Time to push off, thought Ostap, serenely wandering up and down the rows of tables and casually moving pieces about.
"You've moved the knight wrong, Comrade Grossmeister," said one-eye, cringing. "A knight doesn't go like that."
"So sorry," said the Grossmeister, "I'm rather tired after the lecture."
During the next ten minutes the Grossmeister lost a further ten games.
Cries of surprise echoed through the Cardboardworker club-room.
Conflict was near.
Ostap lost fifteen games in succession, and then another three.
Only one-eye was left.
At the beginning of the game he had made a large number of mistakes from nervousness and was only now bringing the game to a victorious conclusion.
Unnoticed by those around, Ostap removed the black rook from the board and hid it in his pocket.
A crowd of people pressed tightly around the players.
"I had a rook on this square a moment ago," cried one-eye, looking round, "and now it's gone!"
"If it's not there now, it wasn't there at all," said Ostap, rather rudely.
"Of course it was.
I remember it distinctly!"
"Of course it wasn't!"
"Where's it gone, then?
Did you take it?"
"Yes, I took it."
"At which move?"
"Don't try to confuse me with your rook.